


family matters

by the_cosmos_lonely (dheiress)



Series: the delanos and the keays [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (?), Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gerry was a chubby baby fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dheiress/pseuds/the_cosmos_lonely
Summary: Unrelated (mostly) fluffy ficlets about the Keay Family.1. Eric cooks for his family.2. Photograph captioned Mary and Me (A year that could have been any year but also could have been the year Gerry was born)
Relationships: Eric Delano/Mary Keay
Series: the delanos and the keays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810351
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	1. bacon and eggs

He turns the cassette on and The Clash cockily blares at him from the speakers.

  
_Darling, you got to let me know_  
_Should I stay or should I go?_

  
With bacon haphazardly tossed into it, the frying pan sizzles angrily at him and Eric has to flip a nearby casserole lid into a makeshift shield from the hot oil spray. 

  
_If you say that you are mine_  
_I'll be here 'til the end of time_

  
He lets the bacon fry at high heat for another second before twisting the stove's knob into an almost close but not quite. Mary has always liked it better when the bacon is straddling that fine line between crispy and chewable.

_So you got to let me know_  
_Should I stay or should I go?_

  
On another pan, he cracks two eggs, one lightly scrambled for him and a sunny side up with the yolk soft but not runny for Gerry.

  
_It's always tease, tease, tease_  
_You're happy when I'm on my knees_

  
He doesn't hear the soft patter of small feet behind him but he looks down at the small tug on his pants to see his son blinking up at him, wiping the crusted sleep from his blue eyes.

  
_One day it's fine and next it's black_  
_So if you want me off your back_

  
"Gerry," he coos, bending down to pick up the boy. Eric drapes the blanket Gerry has dragged from his room around his small frame and carries him in one arm as he pokes at the bacon and eggs, "Sorry, did the frying sound scare you? Daddy has to battle The Evil Bacon and Eggs for you and Mum today again, sorry."

  
_Well, come on and let me know_  
_Should I stay or should I go?_

  
His son just nods groggily at him before dropping his blonde head onto Eric's shoulders. The small gesture is something Gerry has always been doing since he's born and yet it never fails to have love bubble brightly in Eric's chest. 

  
_Should I stay or should I go now?_  
_Should I stay or should I go now?_

Dropping a kiss on his son's mussed hair, Eric hums an apologetic sound, "I'll have to leave soon for work, love. Take care of Mum for me while I'm gone, yeah?"

  
_If I go, there will be trouble_  
_And if I stay it will be double_

  
"Yea" Gerry chirps at him sleepily.

"Yea? Just a 'yea' from you, young man?" He asks, mocked affronted.

Gerry twitters at him, a little bit more awake.

"Yea, daddy."

"Yeah? Yeah! That's my son!"

He kisses his son's chubby cheeks, once again marvelling at this life he and Mary created.

_So come on and let me know._

* * *

  
He turns the cassette on. 

_This indecision's bugging me (esta indecisión me molesta)_  
_If you don't want me, set me free (si no me quieres, librarme)_

  
He chucks the bacon into the frying pan recklessly and hot oil is sprayed on him as petty revenge. Gerard fumbles for something to shield himself with and his hands grasps an unused lid left on the dish rack.

_Exactly whom I'm supposed to be (dígame que tengo ser)_  
_Don't you know which clothes even fit me? (sabes que ropa me quedra)_

  
Using the poor lid as his defense, he lowers the heat as the sizzling pan stubbornly tries to burn him with pork oil.

_Come on and let me know (me tienes que decir)_  
_Should I cool it or should I blow? (me debo ir o quedarme)_

He cracks two eggs on another pan, scrambling one of them lightly.

_Should I stay or should I go now? (yo me enfrió o lo soplo)_  
_Should I stay or should I go now? (yo me enfrió o lo soplo)_

His newly dyed black hair fall across his face for a moment and he has to tuck it behind his ears. He hisses, when at that moment of weakness the bacon rashers he's frying decided to spat at him another shower of oil.

_If I go there will be trouble (si me voy va a haber peligro)_  
_And if I stay it will be double (si me quedo sera el doble)_

Licking the oil from his wrist, he twists the stove's knob to an almost close and the bacon settles into its resigned burning to crisp. He doesn't notice the soft pad of footsteps behind him.

"Is that bacon?" His mother asks, yawning. Her blonde hair is mussed and there are large bags under her eyes. He has heard her tutting around her room last night, the ceaseless light seen from her room's door gap telling how she poured over the latest Leitner he has brought.

"Yeah, there were some left from last week."

_So ya gotta let me know (me tienes que decir)_  
_Should I cool it or should I blow? (me debo ir o quedarme)_

  
She makes a satisfied sigh, "Cook them crispy, dear. I love them like that."

_So ya gotta let me know (me tienes que decir)_

"And, Gerard, turn that cassette player off, it's giving me a migraine."

  
_Should I stay or should I go?_

He clicks the player off.


	2. photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> photographs in forgotten books

Gerry finds the book tucked almost absent-mindedly between the layers of his mother's gauzy curtains and the faux-crochet table runners. It isn't dusty because the linen cabinet hasn't been opened since...well, since Gerry can remember. If he didn't know better, he'd think Mum must have somehow forgotten it there when she changed the curtains but Mum would never do that to a book. Also, she never bothered changing the curtains, either.

He extracts it from the folds of cloth carefully, grasping it only with his thumb and forefinger all while thinking what kind of Leitner this is that it needs to be kept here-- oh

Not a Leitner. 

_Frankenstein_ , the faded leather cover says. Not a first edition, Gerry sees with a quick peek at the book's preface, no wonder it's left alone to an immortal creeping rot with musty fabrics it doesn't belong even with. 

Slotting it back to its resting place with a care not unlike someone respectfully placing back old bones accidentally unburied, the book slips from Gerry's fingers and falls flat on its spine. He winces as it breaks open like a dead butterfly, a page standing out like a caricature of an exclamation point. 

Wait, no. Not a page.

Gerry plucks the book back up and takes out the stiff piece of paper inserted tightly between the book's yellowing brittle pages.

It's a photograph.

At the back, there written are the words, in confident, bold letters, _Mary and Me_ , followed by an apostrophe and something that could have been a seven or an eight then a six or a shaky zero.

Gerry turns the photo around, sees his own face in his mother's younger one. He has Mum's hair, the colour of her eyes, the shape of her face, even the slight pout in her lips, he sees them all in the mirror every day. Her stomach bulges a little and suddenly there's a burning at the base of his throat.

The man beside her has his arm around her, black leather jacket flapping in a static wind.

He looks asian, or Gerry thinks so at least. Sharp but smiling eyes, wide grin like everything he'd ever wanted is in his arms, thick inky black hair a heavy curtain around his face. There's a cigarette case peeking out his trousers' pocket.

**_Mary and Me._ **

A year that could have been any year but also could have been the year Gerry was born.

He thumbs over the face of the stranger in the picture, his mind already filled with calculations how many hair dye he'll need, how black he wants it to be. Tucking back the book softly into the soft cloth and closing the cabinet there more reverently than a linen closet deserves, Gerry pockets the photograph and heads out for a smoke.


End file.
